


Orestes Fasting

by brilliantbrioche



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: All the Amis are there but I only really mention a few of them, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eating Disorders, Graphic Description of Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1204159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilliantbrioche/pseuds/brilliantbrioche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>No one cared. No one cares. He’s too fat for them to care.</em><br/>Enjolras visits his family and comes back weighing more than he thinks he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three Weeks

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Eating Disorders/Starvation, Self-Harm and Self-Hatred. Please don't read this if you think it will trigger you.
> 
> I really don't feel good so here have some fucked up Enjolras.  
> All types of feedback is welcome.
> 
> Not beta's - all mistakes are my own.

_Stupid. Fat. Worthless._  

Enjolras stood in the bathroom and stared down at the number on the scale. A week with his family and he was already back into double digits. He hates numbers.

_Too much. Disgusting._

How long had he been doing this for now? Three months? Four? No one noticed, no one cared. No one cares. _He’s too fat for them too care._

Now he only has three weeks to lose it, three weeks until classes start again. It’s not enough time, he knows this, it’s not enough time. He needs to loose it. He needs to loose more.

Enjolras steps of the scales then presses the button again to reset it. He steps back on.

The same numbers stare back up at him.

*

Meetings had started to become harder, before he left. His vision blurred and his hand shook; exhaustion wrapped itself around his mind, before and now, but it doesn't matter. He only has three weeks and _everyday counts._

He hasn't eaten since he got back. 34 hours and it’s not enough.

He can deal with the hunger, that’s never bothered him. Before he used to go days without eating, not because he didn't want to (because he just _couldn’t_ now. It wasn’t allowed) but because he forgot, food didn't matter, it never did. The essay that was due next week, however, did matter. A lot. The meetings matter too, he is the leader and he needs to be strong but it was just so _hard_.

He ate so much at his parents house; time wasn’t real there, food wasn't real there. The pressure wasn't real there. None of it counted then but it does now, oh god how could he have been so stupid? It always counts. 

_It. Always. Counts._

_You shouldn't have eaten it Enjolras. You shouldn't have eaten anything. Now you’re fat, you can see it on you. Flesh. Extra flesh you don't need it. You don't need anything and now you've eaten._

_Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?_

_You stupid idiot. How could you do that to yourself? All that work is useless now. Even if you lost it in time you’ll still be too much. You take up so much space and you SHOULDN’T! Its not allowed. It’s not allowed._

_Throw up._

Thats how Jehan found him; curled up on the bathroom floor of the Musain. Or were they at the Corinth today? He couldn't remember and all public bathrooms look the same. He couldn't remember walking there, to the meeting. Or the bathroom.

“Enjolras?” He felt a cool hand pause over his forehead. “You’re burning up, have you just been sick?”

Enjolras looked up and saw concern crinkle around Jehan’s eyes. _Oh._

“Yeah.” He croaked, “I think I might have cause the plague whilst I was in France.” He tried for a light laugh but the action only caused the slight crease between Jehan’s eyebrows to deepen. 

“Have you eaten today? You look faint.”

“Yeah.” _No._

“Are you sure? Enjolras you know you need to, you can't always forget. You looked really ill when you were talking today.” Jehan felt his forehead again and sympathy mixed with the concern on their face. 

Enjolras remembered more clearly now, the trauma of throwing up fading. He got up, walked here, made a few points, shouted at Grantaire and drank a latte. He drank something. Liquid calories are a bitch.

_Well done Enjolras, claps for you. Fucked up again. Congratulations._

“Yeah, I just feel ill don't worry. I should probably go home.”

He had nearly fainted. Or he had felt like it anyway; struggling to stop his legs from wavering beneath him and that constant fog that had fallen over him, making it hard to comprehend what exactly was happening and why. But that had been there for awhile, making it harder to get up in the morning and making the small things, like dropping a pen, feel massive and pushing tears so they were almost constantly on the brim of falling. _You’ve gone longer than this before, why is this effecting you so much?_

“Can you stand? I’ll get you something to drink then Combeferre can give you a lift back. 

“No, it’s alright. I’m going to walk. The fresh air might help.”

Jehan looked uncertain and for a second Enjolras thought he might have seen annoyance flicker across their face.

“Enjolras-“

“No. It’s fine, alright? Look,” He stood up and ignored the way he swayed a little on his feet; hoping Jehan didn't notice. “I’m okay, I can walk.” _I need the exercise._

It was so easy. No one asked, no one cared. He’d lost over a stone and no one commented, either that or they were too polite to say anything or ask why he never ate in front of anyone. Although that had always made him uncomfortable, even when he was a child; only certain people were allowed to see him eat. Anyone else would laugh at him.

“I'm going now, so I don't, you know, die." He tried to laugh again, it was almost as bad as the first time. "See you later, yeah?”

Jehan nodded and watched him leave with tired eyes.

No one knew and it was great.


	2. Two Weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There is a graphic description of self-harm in this chapter so please don't read if that could be triggering for you.

A week passed too quickly for Enjolras’ liking and now he only has fourteen days. Fourteen days and it wasn't just food that was the problem now; his weight still haunted him, the extra mass clinging to his bones, but work. That was the problem. Enjolras had so much work and he hadn't even started.

He couldn't do it; he knew that much already.

He was behind and he was going to fail. His body hung and he was stuck to the ground. The sound of the phone ringing pushed tears down his face as he forced himself up and out of the bed.

“Hey Enjolras.” It was Courfeyrac. “Jehan told me you weren't feeling well? I hope you’re okay bud.”

Enjolras let out a grunt from the back of his throat; not saying if he was or if he wasn’t.

Courfeyrac carried on, his happy voice bubbling over the line. “Are you still up for the meeting tonight?”

_Shit. You forgot about that didn't you?_

Panic welled in Enjolras’ chest, _fuck fuck fuck._

“Were going over the plans for the rally next week, right?”

_If you go you wont be able to do anything today. You have work to do, an essay to finish, content to revise. You have exams when you go back; you have to get a good grade._

_You have to work. You don't have enough time to do this. You don't have enough time to finish everything, to get ahead. You still need to loose weight. They’ll make you eat if you go._

“Um-“ His voice wavered and he struggled to breathe. _You have to get every thing done. You have to, you worthless piece of shit._

“Enjolras?” _Oh great, now Courfeyrac sounds concerned. He was around last time; when it became too much. He remembers, he knows._

“Erm.” _Deep breaths_. “No, I’m sorry I don't think I can.” _Useless._ “I still feel ill, I think I must have eaten something at my parents house, sorry.”

“No, don't be silly don't say sorry. Its not your fault. Anyway, without a meeting I have the opportunity to see Jehan. I can finally-“

“Courf,” Enjolras had calmed considerably by now and his voice had a hint of fondness when talking to his friend. “I don't want to hear your plans on wooing Jehan. Buy them flowers or something- do something normal!”

Courfeyrac laughed and something twisted inside Enjolras’ stomach, “Listen I have to go I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Enjol-“ The line was cut off as Enjolras threw the phone to the side and rushed into the bathroom. His knuckles turning white as he griped the side of the toilet bowl, expelling bile and water.

_You have to do this. You have to finish everything today._

He gagged again.

*

Enjolras stared at his laptop. _You have twenty minutes to do this. You've written a thousand words but you need to finish, you have so much more stuff to do._

He started to shake. His stomach growled pitifully. 72 hours.

He stood up and made his way to the kitchen, his head a blank, empty buzz.

Ten minutes later and he came back to his body; crashing through with waves of nausea and disgust. Guilt throbbing at the corners of his mind.

He tried to throw up again but he couldn’t. So he settled for sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at the wall.

He had just eaten.

That essay was due next week so the professor could mark it before they all returned to classes.

He had _eaten._

*

Time passed. Time always passed, soon it was midnight and the day was gone.

Enjolras hadn't done anything.

His phone buzzed; it had done that a lot over the past hour or so. Enjolras supposed it would be best if he checked it. At least then he would be doing _something._

**From Combeferre, To Enjolras:**

**I hope you’re okay. If it’s getting like before remember I’m here. In the nicest way possible you looked ill the last time I saw you. We missed you today, stay safe.**

**From Grantaire, To Enjolras:**

**i missed ur ranting i guess even gods can get ill**

**From Courfeyrac, To Enjolras:**

**I hope you didn't flush the phone down the toilet when you were being sick, call me ok?**

**From Jehan, To Enjolras:**

**Courf bought me flowers that ridiculous cutie. I hope ur well and remember to eat! U coming to the Musain tomorrow?**

**Feuilly, To Enjolras:**

**Sorry you’re ill, I’ll keep you updated if something happens on the news.**

Enjolras felt sick again. They all wanted replies. He needed to do something.

_Too much, can’t. Can’t do anything._

Suddenly he was angry; white rage spilling over the sides and he typed a reply.

**From Enjolras, To five contacts:**

**I am fine. Leave me alone.**

Enjolras stared down at his reply. It was curt and maybe a little rude but nothing like how he felt. Everything was so pointless, so fucking _irritating._

He had to do something. He walked into the bathroom.

He had to do something.

Enjolras opened the box from underneath the sink. Its familiar contents looking exactly how he had left them. He spread them out on the floor; his tools. Blades from so many different sources he could even remember where he got half of them.

He picked up the one furthest to the left.

_One cut for eating._

_One cut for pushing everyone away._

_One cut for the History essay; another for the project; five for the revision and more for the sake of it._

_More cuts for everything. Press down further, see the skin part. See the blood flow._

_You deserve this. You deserve to hurt._

He lost himself in it then; eyes almost closed and his vision blurred with the tears that were falling in a constant stream. His arm kept moving, backwards and forwards, line after line. It didn't matter how deep or how many. Enjolras was possessed, he _had_ to keep moving, sliding the blade across his skin again and again. He had to do it. His arm had to move, he had to make another cut; he couldn't stop. Pain was the only thing keeping him here now. The pain and the blood; the blood was everywhere.

But the voice stopped. The voice in his head, he stopped. There was nothing that could touch him now; the pain took it all away.

*

In the morning Enjolras looked down and smiled slightly. The pain was still there; a pleasant reminder. 

_You did this to yourself. You did well._

The pain would help him, he could feel again. He was alive and making progress.

_Thinner, better, stronger. Well done Enjolras._

He paused for a second, guilt wavering through his mind and an image of Combeferre shaking his head, disappointed. _Three years down the drain, Enjolras. Those three years are for nothing now._

Enjolras frowned and grabbed him arm, pressing down on the mess of cuts and scars. Relaxing as the pain hit him.

_No, this is good. I’ve done well. I am strong._


	3. One week

Fourteen days was now seven. Enjolras hadn't left his flat since his relapse; his arms healing but his body too weak with hunger to take him more than a few steps from the front door. 

His phone had a large amount of missed calls and even more texts. All of which were left unanswered.

_They don't care._

It always came down to that, didn't it?

_They don't care. They're only pretending._

He had eaten again and the guilt forced him into bed for the last day. Maybe if he stayed here long enough he would die? No, that wasn't what he wanted. Enjolras didn't want to die; he wanted to succeed to be strong. To be perfect. _There’s no such thing as perfect. Not for me._

“Enjolras?” Someone was knocking at the door. “Enjolras come on open the door, you haven't been out for days.” It sounded like Courfeyrac. Enjolras looked at the clock, it was definitely Courfeyrac, Combeferre had work.

He got up, his legs dragging themselves off the sofa and his arms hanging limp by his side. He stopped just by the door.

“Go away Courfeyrac.”

“No, let me in.” There was irritation and something akin to worry leaking into his voice.

“I’m going back to bed.”

“LET ME THE FUCK IN ENJOLRAS I AM NOT PLAYING THIS GAME WITH YOU!”

Enjolras let him in; what else could he do? Judging by the way Courfeyrac’s eyes widened he looked like shit. _Oh well._

They moved into the living room, Courfeyrac following him with anger written over his face but his hand was shaking. Courfeyrac always shook when he was nervous, Enjolras remembered this from weeks of GCSE and A-Level exams where afterward they would sit together, Courfeyrac shaking so bad he could hardly speak. 

“We’re all going on a group outing and you’re coming with us.” Before Enjolras could open his mouth he spoke again. “Don’t say no. It's in two hours. Get in the shower, I’m making something for you to eat. Don't fucking argue.” Courfeyrac growled the last sentence, his eyes burning.

_Fuck._

* 

The cinema was bearable, Enjolras realised. Everyone was quiet and a little strange around him, as if they were tip-toeing around antique fine china. 

~~_It’s because they don't want to here._ ~~

~~_It’s because they hate you._ ~~

_It’s because Courfeyrac ~~i~~_ ~~ _nvited_ ~~ _forced you._

The cinema was bearable and now he was going to leave. He told everyone the latter when they stopped outside afterwards; Feuilly and Grantaire lighting up a cigarette. 

“Come on Enjolras, we’re going back to mine. Come with us.” Combeferre frowned. “We haven't seen you in ages.” His tone was worried and in that second Enjolras knew. Combeferre had figured it out, it must have been obvious to him. He was there last time after all. So was Courfeyrac and Jehan.

They were all frowning at him. It was unsettling, to see worry in them.

“Please.” It was Grantaire. “Please Enjolras, we miss you.” His voice was soft and Enjolras liked it.

“Fine.” _It’s not because of you._

_This better not be an intervention._

Enjolras was happy when they all started moving again, walking down the street, sounds of chatter and conversations leaking out onto the street. He was also surprisingly happy when they were all sat down around Combeferre's TV laughing and talking. He’d missed this, even though he was quiet now and didn't talk very often if at all, he had missed it and it hurt him to realise it.

Three short weeks and he felt like he didn't know the people who were supposedly his best friends.

Supposedly. 

_Remember, they don't want you here._

_Go away._

_You're dirty and annoying, they don't want you._

He went home early. No one tried to stop him this time, although both Combeferre and Courfeyrac gave him a look and so did Grantaire. It was odd. 

It's getting harder remembering who he is.

* 

Enjolras looked down at the number on the scales. Just under three weeks and he was back where he was before.

_It’s not enough. You need to do something._

He goes swimming. The smell of chlorine in the changing room takes him back to when he was a child; getting changed with friends and deciding who was racing who. He used to do it semi-professionally. God he loved this sport.

His old opponents would laugh if they saw him now; a fat land mine. He’d be surprised if he could still swim at all or if he’d just sink to the bottom.

_Wrap the towel around yourself. People might see._

_People might see you, your body, your scars._

_Filthy._

“Enjolras?” It was Grantaire in a lifeguard uniform. Enjolras didn't know he worked there.

“How long-“

“You’re not getting in the pool.”

“What?” He asked dumbly before anger swelled in him. “Grantaire you cant just stop me, I’ve only just got in. What the fuck are you even trying to do? God!” He almost screamed.

“You’ll drown after one lap, jesus Enjolras!” He spat out frustrated, pulling at his hair before looking the other man up and down again, his eyes hesitating at where his elbow jutted out and goosebumps stood on his flesh.

Enjolras stopped and looked back. 

 _People are staring._ _  
_

_Of course people are staring who wouldn't stare at the whale trying to argue with the lifeguard._

_Well fucking done. Look at what you've done now._

_Fuck off Enjolras._

Grantaire spoke again. “You’re going to hate me for this and for bossing you around but get changed. I’ll meet you outside, I get off in five minutes.

Enjolras opened his mouth.

“This isn't up for discussion.” Grantaire’s voice was stern and Enjolras turned away and went to get changed.

*

Enjolras was changed and waiting when the other man appeared a few minutes later. Grantaire was still dressed in his uniform.

“We’re getting something to eat.”

_No._

“Enjolras?”

_No._

_No. No. Please don't make me._

“Are you Okay? Shit.”

_NO!_

“Enjolras breathe okay? Come on breathe with me, in and-“

_Can't. Can't breathe._

_Oh god. Oh god. Oh god._


	4. Three Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is now being beta'd by the wonderful [Neelh.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Neelh)  
> 

Enjolras was back in his flat again. He hadn’t left for twelve hours. He hadn’t eaten either.

Grantaire brought him back from the swimming pool, apologising the entire way back. He still made him eat and Enjolras cried. It was strange; Enjolras couldn’t remember crying for a long, long time but then he did. In front of Grantaire, of all people. He didn’t say anything though, just got a tissue and rubbed his shoulder.

It was odd and Enjolras was relieved when he finally left, looking regretful and pleading. Enjolras was relieved but he also wished that Grantaire would never leave.

He liked Grantaire. It was a fact, one he ignored, like the fact he was hungry. He ignored most things now.

*

You have _to go back to university in three days._  

He didn’t care. He wasn’t going.

_You’re disgusting. They don’t want you there. You haven’t done anything._

_Stay inside and starve._

_Starve to death._

Enjolras rocked back and forth slightly where he was sat on his bed.

_No._

*

No one tried to contact him the next day. It was bliss. He didn’t eat, he didn’t work. He didn’t do anything, well that was a lie. He did do one thing but the number of cuts and bruises on his arms and thighs had long stopped mattering to him.

His phone was buzzing and buzzing and Enjolras hated it so he threw it away. No one really cared and the noise was annoying. 

He hadn’t eaten for two days. He was empty. He was in control.

It couldn’t last.

*

There was a banging at the door and similar to the event that occurred a few days prior, Enjolras stood just in front of the door, swaying slightly before he spoke.

“What?”

“Fuck sake open the door! Is this the only way to get into contact with you now? To bang the bloody door down?”

“Oh, hello Grantaire.”

“Open the fucking door.” Enjolras opened the fucking door and Grantaire barged in.

“Sit down. We’re having a talk.”

_A talk._

_Oh shit a_ **_talk._ **

“About what?”

“You. What else?” His tone was sarcastic and it made Enjolras feel slightly better. It was something normal. Something to cling to. Something that wasn’t the panic that had begin to well inside him.

They sat on the sofa, knees touching and looking away from each other. There was an uncomfortable silence before Grantaire spoke.

“We’re all worried about you.”

“Right.”

Grantaire sighed. “How much do you weigh?”

Silence.

“Enjolras!”

“Too much.” It was barely a whisper. He knew exactly how much he weighed and it was disgusting.

Grantaire sighed again and leaned forward, putting his hands over his face.

“Do you remember when I quit drinking?”

“Yes.” It was a quiet time. It hadn’t been the first time Grantaire had tried to quit and so no one tried too show too much emotion or hope in case it failed. But it didn’t. He won. He got his life back slowly; painfully slowly, but he did it. Everyone was extremely proud.

“I know about addiction. Thats what you have; an addiction. A disorder.”

“Why are you here?” The question was left unanswered.

“You need to get help Enjolras. They told me; Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Jehan. They all remembered when you did this in high school. You’re ill.” Grantaire turned to face him, sadness all over his face. “Didn’t you know you were relapsing?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does!” Grantaire’s voice broke. “Why?”

_Isn’t that a lovely question._

“Eating is unsatisfactory.” Enjolras stopped for a second, frowning slightly. “I hate it. I hate existing.”

“Life is unsatisfactory, Enjolras, but we still have to live it.”

“No we don’t. You know that.”

There was silence and once again Grantaire was the one to break it.

“No.” It was one simple word then he moved, gently taking Enjolras’ face with his hand and brushing their lips together. “No we don’t.” He moved forward, pushing their lips together in a kiss. “But we should.”

Tears started falling down Enjolras’ face; tears he hardly even realised were forming. Grantaire moved back but Enjolras followed him. 

“Kiss me again.”

“No.” Grantaire was crying now but his voice was still strong. “You have to get help. You need to live, Enjolras.”

Enjolras swallowed.  _You’ll lose everything. All that progress, gone._

“Will you stay with me.”

“Always, if you permit it.”

They were still sat, face to face; Grantaire’s hand caressing Enjolras’ angular features.

_No, don’t do this. Don’t do this._

_It’s a mistake._

“Okay.”

*

It was hours later and they were still entwined on the sofa; Enjolras’ head resting slightly on Grantaire’s broad chest.

“Why did you come? Not that I’m complaining, it’s just last time, when they took me away, it was big. There was so many people. I kind of expected that, if it were to ever happen again.”

“You didn’t need people. We all know. We all want to help and to tell the truth we were planning something but, well last night there was a meeting.” Oh god, Enjolras had forgotten all about those. Shit. “And well, Combeferre just started crying then everyone else did. It was… It was pretty horrific.”

“Oh.”

_You forgot about that didn’t you? You forgot they cared._

_Arsehole._

“But then, I don’t know. It was just one of those moments. I needed to do something.” Grantaire went quiet. “I needed to see you.”

Something in Enjolras broke then and tears started to pour out; tears that he thought he’d already cried before, when Grantaire had first arrived, but no, there were always more.

Grantaire kissed them away.

“I think I love you.”

Enjolras choked out a sob. “I know.”

“Good.” Grantaire got up and swooped the other man into his arms. “Time for bed. We’re ringing Combeferre and Joly tomorrow.”


	5. Epilogue

“Good morning.” The sunshine come through the window and illuminated Grantaire’s hair until it was the colour of whiskey.

Enjolras grunted and smiled slightly. “Hello.” 

“That wasn’t the right answer, you’re supposed to say ‘Grantaire, what a beautiful morning this is, the perfect kind of morning for-“

Enjolras’ smile grew, he closed his eyes and twisted in the bed, soft covers and warm arms enveloping him.

“Shut up and get me some coffee.”

*

A year. It had taken a year to succumb to this; a year to get to his lowest weight. Enjolras hadn’t thought it was that long but after hours and hours of talking and thinking and unfortunately eating he, along with his therapist and with the agreement of the dietician, had come to the conclusion this had been going on for far longer than he realised. 

This wasn’t the first time either. He already knew that, but it was better this time around without his parents pushing him to _get up, get better, get out_. He had his friends, all of them. He had Grantaire.

No that Grantaire fixed everything; that would be impossible. He had gotten better for himself. He didn’t want to be like that anymore.

*

“Are you going to eat that?”

“Maybe later.”

*

Six months. It had taken six months of recovery and several relapses to get where is is now.

He still had bad days. He probably always would, but they were getting rarer.

*

Grantaire returned with a tray. “I got coffee, toast and cereal.”

Enjolras took the tray and in return gave Grantaire a kiss, meeting soft lips and the taste of toothpaste. 

*

Two months. It had taken two months for them to agree to call it a relationship, Grantaire had been uncertain at first, worried he was taking advantage of Enjolras when he was so vulnerable, but Enjolras had been persistent. They moved in with each other quickly; everyone thinking it would be better if Enjolras didn’t live alone.

That was what got the ball rolling and soon they couldn’t remember not being in a relationship; not living together; not being happy.

It was wonderful and they both knew it.

*

“I love you.”

It had taken a while for Enjolras to say that. It had taken a while for him to say anything, but they both knew he always meant it.

“I love you too.”

Seventy years later they’d still be saying the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished!  
> Again thanks to [Neelh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Neelh) for being a lovely beta on the last few chapters and just thank you to everyone else for all the comments and kudos, this fic has been really fun to write!  
> -  
> Also I am [here](http://allophones.tumblr.com) on tumblr if anyone wants to say hello.


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